


Get Down with the Sickness

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Series: For the Good Times (Shiro Week 2017) [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Shiro Week 2017, Sick Fic, Sick Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: Catching space colds is nothing new to Shiro.  But this particular bug is nasty and especially contagious.  The answer: Quarantine





	Get Down with the Sickness

“I’m very sorry for this,” Coran said, his expression truly apologetic.  At least, that’s what it looked like through the helmet he was wearing.

Shiro nodded, and even that little move made his head swim.  “It’s fine, Coran,” he replied, though his words came out thickly.  “I understand.  I don’t want to get anyone else sick.” Grimacing, he reached for his cup of water and took a long sip.  It helped clear up his throat, and the cool temperature helped soothe the burning heat.  

It was unfortunate that Shiro ended up getting sick more often than the other humans.  His immune system was compromised for a number of reasons, the first being the slice clean through his sinuses, and the second that a year of stress and malnutrition hadn’t done his body favors.  

Usually, that meant getting a cold, going to Coran, getting tested, and taking some form of medicine.  Shiro had kept his illness to himself all of once, and then he’d nearly collapsed on top of poor Hunk during training.  After, he’d managed to take half the team down with the virus, and there’d been a terrifying 24 hours where forming Voltron would have been impossible.

So Shiro had learned not to do that.

Except this time, Coran had taken one look at the results and let out a stream of untranslatable words that probably made ‘Quiznak’ sound a child’s first curse word.  

“Why can’t Shiro just go into a pod?” Keith asked over the intercom.  Looking over at the window in the room, Shiro could see the team half-pressed against it, watching worriedly.  He gave them a gentle wave, just to try and ease the tension, but it didn’t seem to help.

Coran sighed, the noise echoing oddly inside his make-shift hazmat suit.  “The pods speed up the body’s natural healing processes, and even enhances it at times.  For injuries, this works wonders, and even for minor illnesses it wouldn’t be a problem.  But Shiro has caught the Yivren.  Going through that quickly and intensely would likely kill him within minutes.”

Brows up, Shiro cleared his throat again and winced when that only made his throat ache anew.  “That sounds counterproductive.”

“Indeed,” Coran drawled back.  “So you’ll just have to go through it the old fashioned way.  Nothing wrong with that!  You’re a healthy lad, you’d do fine.”  He patted his gloved hand on Shiro’s shoulder with enough force to make him jolt.

Immediately, Shiro went into a coughing fit.  He curled up on himself, head to his knees.  Vaguely, he could feel the unfamiliar, soft material of his pants against his sensitive skin.  All of him felt hyper-charged. While Shiro understood the value of changing his clothes if he was going to be laying down and sweaty, it was just making the situation all the more surreal.

When he finally uncurled, he heard Hunk’s sigh over the intercom.  “Ouch.  Is there anything he should be eating in particular, Coran?”

“Whatever it is humans eat to get healthy, I assume,” Coran replied, shrugging.  “You’re more of an expert than I am, there.”

Over in the window, Hunk nodded thoughtfully.  “I can make soup.  Something light.  How’s your stomach, Shiro?”

“Not great,” he admitted, a touch reluctant.  “Don’t go out of your way.  I’m not sure I’m in the mood for anything but water.”

Pidge shook her head.  “Better to try,” she replied.  “And it’ll keep for when you feel better.  If it’s going to get worse, you should try to get all the nutrients and liquids into you that you can.”

Eugh.  If there was one thing worse than the way Shiro felt right now, it was having everyone talking about his body and all the gross things it was doing or about to do.  “Don’t worry about me,” Shiro replied.  “I just hope none of you caught it from me.”

“A very real concern,” Allura replied.  “The Yivren is horribly contagious.  In the past, it has caught through cities or even planets and done untold damage to populations.  I fear for whoever you caught it from.  I’m simply glad you came to Coran so quickly.”

Shiro was too.  From the sound of it, he could have put down Voltron again, this time far more severely.  “Just make sure to stay on task while I’m in quarantine, please.”

“Aww, Shiro, we’ve done this before.  You don’t have to worry about us, we can handle it.”  Lance flashed him a grin that was probably supposed to be charming and fun, but honestly just made Shiro more nervous.  

Glancing at him, Keith sighed.  “He’s right.  We’ll be able to handle it.  You rest up and feel better fast.”  From the thin press of his lips, Keith also meant ‘please come take your job back quickly as you can’.

For as annoying as the situation was, Shiro didn’t regret having Keith become the Black Paladin position again for a time.  How he’d taken it over had been unfortunate, and Shiro understood and respected that it had been hard on him.  Maybe being eased into it would make Keith more comfortable in the Black Lion.

Or maybe not.  Either way, they were stuck with this for a while.

“How long did you say this could take?” Pidge asked.  “We should probably bring Shiro something to do if it’s going to be a while.”

Coran ticked off on his fingers, which really wasn’t comforting.  “A couple of quintent?” He offered, voice raising into a question.  “It’s hard to say, comparing Altean to Terran.  Similar as we look, there’s quite a lot of differences, you know!  But I’d think somewhere in that range.  Depends on how bad the strain is, too.”

Great.  Shiro took a deep breath.  “A pad would be nice,” he admitted.  “Or a deck of cards, maybe?”

“We can figure something out,” Hunk agreed, flashing him a smile.  His fingers tapped against the glass, a distant noise that Shiro could just barely make out.  “If nothing else, having a pad in there will make it easier for us to talk with you.”

Shiro paused, then shook his head.  “It’s not your job to keep me company,” he said.  “Don’t feel obligated.”

“You’d do it for us,” Keith pointed out flatly.

Well, Shiro liked to think so, but he was so busy.  They all were.  “I’d try, but I still understand.”

Lance shook his head and crossed his arms.  “Nope.  You’re dealing with it.  I bet Pidge and Hunk can set up some kind of two player game too, where we can all be on our own screens.”

Humming thoughtfully, Pidge shrugged. “Now that we have some video game codes in the system?  Sure, probably.”

“See?”  Lance beamed.  “No problem.”

Allura eyed them in amusement.  “Your first priority should be to rest,” she reminded.  “You’ll need a lot of it in the coming days, and you don’t have many opportunities to simply relax all day.  Take advantage.”

Nose crinkling, Shiro’s shoulders slumped.  “I know,” he groaned, leaning back against the mountain of pillows that Coran had provided.  He might not be able to just stay in his room, but at least Coran had gone out of his way to make this room as un-medical and comfortable as possible.

“You’ll manage,” Keith said, utterly merciless.  “Try and sleep, okay?”

Easier said than done, and everyone here knew it.  But Shiro still gave them all a smile.  “I’ll do my best.”

Coran eyed him, then nodded to the cabinet in the corner.  “If you’re having too much trouble, ask.  There are sedatives I think would be safe for you to take, especially in small doses.  It might do you some good for staying asleep.”

Staying asleep and not being able to wake up.  Feeling that familiar, heavy haze that meant Shiro had been drugged, that someone else was in control of him, that he was trapped in this room at the mercy of those with the keys-

No thanks.

“I’ll try on my own,” Shiro replied instead.  “But thank you for the offer.”

Patting him again, this time much more gently, Coran smiled.  “Of course, Number One.  Call for anything at all that you need.  Someone will be there for you.”

“Of course,” Shiro said.  “I’ll manage.  I’ve been sick before.  My first semester at the Garrison, I got dorm sick so badly they had to keep me in the infirmary for three days.  Can’t be much worse than that.”

Hunk snorted.  “With Doctor Taylor?  Man, I’d take Space Flu any day.”

“Exactly.”

Brows up, Coran pulled the covers back up, nearly tucking Shiro back into bed.  “Don’t underestimate the Yivrin.  It’s a very serious illness.”

Shiro held up a hand, both to acknowledge the words and ward off his fussing.  “I won’t, Coran.  You’ve made me very aware of how serious this is.  I’ll let you know when the symptoms start to get worse, and you’re monitoring me.  I’ll live.  I always manage, sometimes despite myself.”

“He’s fine,” Keith pronounced, rolling his eyes.  “Alright, we should get training done.”

Hunk nodded and sighed.  “Yeah, probably.”  He reluctantly pulled on his helmet, grunting as it finally popped into place.  “Bye, Shiro.  Feel better soon.”

Waving them all off, Shiro flopped back onto the bed.  It honestly sucked to watch them go.  He would so much rather be participating and helping than laying here uselessly.  But better him suffering alone then all of them suffering too.

“Would you like me to turn off the lights?” Coran asked.  “The monitoring equipment will remain on, but it may help you rest.”

Considering, Shiro tracked his eyes around the room.  There were several screens constantly showing his condition, and a few machines beeped and flashed on the far wall.  In short, even with the main lights off, it’d be bright enough to at least get a sense for the room.  “I’d appreciate that.  Thank you, Coran.”

“Not at all.  Sleep well, Shiro.”  With that, Coran tapped on the console and stepped out through a door.  On the other side of it, Shiro could see the decontamination process begin, cleaning him off before he returned to the rest of the castle.

Sensible, but a little dramatic.  Maybe this illness didn’t hit humans as hard as Alteans.  For all Coran and Allura had worried over this bug, Shiro felt… well, he felt bad.  But not _ that  _ bad.

Rolling over, he pulled the covers up higher, a slight shiver running through him.  He ached from his fever, his throat hurt from coughing and sinus drain, and his head pounded.  But Shiro had been through worse, even in his nightly dreams.

He’d be fine.

***

Shiro didn’t remember falling asleep, but he found himself blinking his eyes open anyway.  The room was still dark, which meant nothing.  There was no sense of time passing on the ship other than what Shiro’s body could manage.  His circadian clock was odd at the best of times, so fully disconnected Earth’s night and day cycle for so long.   He could have slept for five minutes or five hours, really.

Worse, his head was aching far more than before.  What had once been an annoying headache had bloomed into a full migraine.  Groaning, Shiro turned and pushed his face into the pillow.  It was uncomfortably hot, so he reluctantly pulled away to flip it.  Much better.

As he woke, Shiro took stock of how he was feeling. He must have been tensed or shivering in his sleep, because the ache had gotten worse too, especially at his shoulders.  Even as he laid still, Shiro’s stomach churned, making some unsettling noises.

So, his fever was definitely worse.  But that didn’t require an update to Coran - he had constant access to Shiro’s physical state.  If he wanted to know, he could look at his screen.

Finally, Shiro picked his head up and blinked at the dark room.  The screens had dimmed since he’d gone to sleep, making everything in the room shadows and silhouettes.  The beeping from before continued, but it was quiet.

The room was very, very quiet.

Turning onto his back, Shiro rested his hands on his stomach and took a deep breath.  He still knew where he was, and he hadn’t woken from a nightmare.  So far, he was on a good track.

Slowly, Shiro tapped his fingers against his covers, without rhythm or reason.  It was soft and thick, the same kind on his bed in his room.  The single sheet did more than any comforter Shiro had ever owned, and breathed more than most blankets.  It was nice.

Tap, tap, tap.

The beeping wasn’t Shiro’s heart rate.  It was the wrong tempo, just slightly too slow to match up.  He had no idea what it was keeping track of.  Changes in temperature of his body’s immune system?  Quintessence?  Something weird that Alteans had that Shiro didn’t?  It was impossible to tell from listening.  Next time Coran came by, or when Shiro knew they weren’t in training anymore, he’d ask.

Were they still in training?  This far into the castle, Shiro couldn’t tell.  Today was supposed to be a lion bonding exercise too, so they were all outside the castle, far out of Shiro’s hearing range.  

Spending time with the lions.  Being useful.  Doing something engaging.

Tap, tap, tap.

Groaning, Shiro finally sat up.  His whole body swayed with the movement, and he nearly keeled right back over.  Somehow, his head felt about five times heavier than normal, and he must have been completely stuffed up.  “Eugh,” he managed, then winced at the sound of his voice.  Thick and shredded, it sounded like he’d been coughing for days.

Shiro reached back and grabbed his blanket, wrapping it back around his shoulders to fend off the chill.  There were still no pads around that he could see, so Pidge probably hadn’t come back yet.  Which meant they were still training.

Or she had gotten busy and distracted.  Shiro knew better than to think the team could drop everything because he was sick.  It wasn’t like they could even help.  He was trapped in this room until it passed, so they couldn’t even really spend time with him.  Who wanted to listen to some half-aware sick person babble on the intercom, anyway?  No one.

Or maybe something had happened.  Maybe training had turned into a real mission, and they were all out there, forming Voltron and defending the universe.   The castle received distress signals all the time - one of them might have been from nearby.  Or not.  If they’d gone through a wormhole, Shiro would never know.

What if they were in danger?  What if they were fighting for their lives, and Shiro was just sitting here in the dark?

Not that he could help, but the questions piled up.

Well, Shiro might be trapped, but he wasn’t locked out of the system.  If he could just get oo the wall console by the door, he’d be able to look up any questions he had.

The wall console, all the way on the other side of the room.

The room that looked to be several thousand feet long, right now.

They were fine.  Really, Shiro was being ridiculous.  They were in training, probably complaining about the scenario, or maybe just enjoying bonding with their lions.  

But maybe.

Giving in, Shiro pushed himself off the edge of the bed.  His bare feet slapped loudly against the metal floor.  A chill ran up Shiro’s legs, making hm shiver and wince.  Yikes.  He’d never wandered around the castle barefoot before, so he’d never realized how damn cold it was.

Shiro took stock of the room and took a deep breath.  Then he started to walk, forcing his feet to move one step at a time.  It was difficult to keep his balance when he was swaying so badly, and his shivers threatened to make him curl in on himself and give up.  But Shiro had walked through worse.  He knew that in his heart, even if he didn’t remember it.

What felt like five years later, Shiro leaned against the wall next to the console.  He was out of breath from just his short walk, and his shivers were getting worse the longer he stood around barefoot.  But he could tap on the screen and project the status of the castle.

Perfectly normal.  No wormholes activated, no shielding, no weapons fired in the past cycle and a half.  Exactly as Shiro expected.

It wasn’t even lunch time.  He’d barely been asleep for more than an hour.

“Ridiculous,” Shiro reminded himself.  “You knew nothing was wrong.”

Well, no he didn’t.  He just knew the castle wasn’t in battle mode.

…Damn his brain.

Shiro pressed his head to the metal wall, sighing as the cool metal leached some of the heat away.  “You’re being stupid because your brain is cooking,” he reminded himself.  What had he even thought would happen?  What would he have done if something had been wrong?

Nothing.  But then he would have known for sure.

Well, now Shiro knew.  And the price of his knowledge was having to walk all the way back to his cot.

Groaning, Shiro pushed off the wall and started to teeter back.  He pulled his blanket even tighter over his shoulders.  It trained behind him like a bride’s train, which had to look absolutely ridiculous.  It was a good thing the team was still training, because then no one had been around to see him like this.  Ruffled, flushed, obviously shivering and dropping, and shuffling his way over the cold floor like an old man.

Once Shiro was finally back in bed, he immediately curled up into a tight ball.  Somehow, that helped.  It made him feel smaller, less of a target.  Warmer too, hot skin pressed to hot skin, blanket tucked in around him.

Protected from blows to the stomach.

Ignoring that thought, Shiro pulled one of the pillows closer.  After a moment, he flipped it over.  Better. 

Stupid fever.  Stupid Space Flu.  Stupid nose scar.

Shiro was going to get better fast, just so no one else could ever see him look this pathetic.

***

“Shiro?  Shiro, hey, you need to wake up.”

Groaning, Shiro pulled the covers farther over his head.  

“Shiro, c’mon,” someone else said. “I’m really sorry to wake you, but you at least need to make room on the counter.”

What?  What counter?  Shiro didn’t have a counter in his room.  He had a desk, though.  Moving everything off that sounded like torture.  It was covered in papers and maps and read-outs.  Even just thinking about moving those stacks made his muscles ache.

There was a long sigh.  “Shiro!  Seriously, c’mon.”

“We didn’t think this through.”

“It was a great idea when we thought he’d be awake for it.”

Okay, Shiro wasn’t going to be able to sleep with all this complaining.  Reluctantly, he picked his head up and glanced in the direction of whoever was talking.

It was the intercom.

Wha-

Oh, right.  Quarantine.  Eugh.

“Shiro!”  Now that he was a little more aware, Shiro could tell it was Pidge’s voice.  He blinked blearily at the window.  She and Hunk stood there, waving as he finally noticed them.  “Good.  Turn left, please.”

Left?  Alright.

Looking over, Shiro paused at the odd sight.  One of the floating trays they used for events was in front of him.  A bowl was settled on it, steaming lightly, but it was set on the edge, making the whole thing tilt dangerously.

Automatically, he reached up and picked the bowl off the plate.  It straightened and started back toward the door, which opened to allow it through.

Huh.  Surreal.

When he looked down, Shiro blinked at what looked like mostly broth, then pouted back at the tray.  “It took my spoon,” he whined.

“Oh, yeah.  Guess it didn’t register the spoon as enough weight to stick around.”  Hunk sighed.  “We’ll fix that.  Anyway, there’s lunch.  If you don’t want it now, just leave it on the counter next to you, okay?  Pidge couldn’t settle the tray down because there was too much stuff on it.”

So there was.  Shoving it out of the way, Shiro settled the bowl back down, then flopped onto the bed.  “Thank you both.  Good job.”

Pidge snorted.  “Praising really is automatic for you, isn’t it?” 

“Mmf.”  Maybe.  That sounded right.  Whatever.  Shiro just wanted to sleep.

“Sorry to wake you,” Hunk added, sounding honestly apologetic.  “We didn’t want the tray to give up and for you to wake up with soup everywhere.  But while you’re up, you should have another drink.  It’s important.”

Water was definitely not as important as sleeping.  Shiro let out a grumpy mumble, not even words so much as simply an expression of his displeasure.

Laughing, Pidge shook her head.  “Who knew Shiro turned into a hibernating bear when he was sick?”

Maybe it was immature, and it was definitely not professional, but Shiro raised his hand to flick her off.

Hunk snorted out his own laugh.  “I don’t think he liked that.  Seriously, though, Shiro.  Water.  Getting better faster, remember?”

That sounded vaguely familiar, at least in concept.  Dammit.  Alright.  Pushing himself back up, Shiro picked up his cup.  Immediately, his arm jolted under the weight, and he sloshed water all over his shirt.

Looking up, Shiro shot Hunk a betrayed look, as if he’d personally poured it over him.

Hunk clapped a hand over his mouth, which did nothing to hide his smile.  “You’re supposed to drink it,” he reminded.  “Remember?”

Using his other hand, Shiro flipped Hunk off too.  But he did obligingly finish off the glass, then set it down with a heavy thump.  “Need lighter glasses.”

“You just need to get better.  Now that we know the trays work, we’ll try them again. This time with something that doesn’t spill, so you won’t need to save it.”  Pidge considered, humming softly.  It was a nice sound, actually.  Shiro relaxed in bed listening to it.  Nothing could be that bad while Pidge was doing her thinking humming.   “We’ll start with the pad.”

Hunk cleared his throat.  “Shiro looks like he’s already asleep again.  I don’t think he’s going to need it.”

“It’s practice more than anything,” Pidge admitted.  “If I drop one of them, it’ll just be on the floor instead, and we have a hundred of the things.  It’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Hunk agreed.  “Sleep well, Shiro.”

Nodding into his pillow, Shiro pulled the covers up higher.  His chills seemed to have lessened, though they were definitely still present.  Sleep was a constant drag, pulling him down into the sinking depths.  That was fine.  So far, Shiro hadn’t dreamed here.  Maybe Coran had given him something after all, or maybe Shiro was just too sick to do anything but crash.

Either way, it was nice.  Shiro let himself go slack, content to listen to Hunk and Pidge quietly discuss the logistics of the Tray Delivery System and its limitations.

“Decontamination takes five minutes for the trays.  Maybe we should just keep leaving them in quarantine with him?  It’d probably be more efficient.”

“You’re confusing efficient with being impatient.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not, Pidge.  We only have so many of those things, and do you really want to leave them to get gross while Shiro’s trying to get better?”

“Fair point.”

Slowly, inevitably, the words faded into comforting white noise, and then nothing as Shiro finally drifted off.

***

When Shiro woke next, he wasn’t alone.

There was someone in the room, there were beings here, they were leaning over him.  They were going to hold him down, to pull him apart, to slip their fingers and their power between his rips and move everything around until he fit better for him, they-

Shiro shot up, panting hard.  His bangs stuck to his face, pasted down with sweat, and he felt like he was burning alive.  All of him shook painfully, aching bone deep, and he could barely keep himself upright.

What had they done to him?

There was something on Shiro.  He was tangled, stuck, wrapped, held down.  Kicking, he bucked to try and get free.  Each breath came out short and fast, desperate, as he clawed at the fabric keeping his legs pinned.  It came free and he threw it over the edge of the table.  It didn’t go far.  Shiro didn’t have the strength.

Had they poisoned him?  Put him together wrong?  Hurt him and took away the memory?

Shiro had to get out of here. 

He had to-

Swinging his legs over the side, Shiro stepped off the table.  But his legs immediately gave out under him, sending him crashing to the ground.  He hit hard, too clumsy to catch himself.  The impact jarred him, and made the churning in his stomach suddenly dangerous.

No.  No throwing up.  Food was too precious.  Water even more so.  Shiro couldn’t afford to lose that.

Fingers scrambling at the ground, Shiro tried to push himself up.  He had to get up.  He had to be ready.  They’d take him and they’d play with him, testing him, change him.  Or they’d drag him away to a fight.

Shiro was going to lose like this.

Get up, get up, get up getupgetupgetup!

Shiro was going to die like this.

Finally, he managed to push himself up onto his hands and sit on the floor, rather than sprawl pathetically.  He panted from the effort, arms quacking and buckling from even that.

He was so tired.  He hurt.  But he couldn’t stay here.

Where was Shiro even supposed to go?

“You- hey!”

The voice made Shiro jolt, startling bad enough that he teetered back over.  His stomach protested the sudden movement, leaving Shiro swallowing desperately.  He gagged hard, his whole body jerking with it, but closing off his throat kept anything from coming up yet.

Looking around, Shiro tried to figure out who had spoken.  An opponent?  A druid?  Her?  If he knew where they were coming from and who they were, maybe he could get away.  He could at least move in the opposite direction, fight back, do anything it took.  Shiro would not go down without a fight.

“-iro, what are you doing out of bed?”

That was-

The voice was coming from one of the screens.

Shiro stared at it, uncomprehending.  Was someone there?

“He’s feverish,” another voice replied, quieter than the first.  “He can’t hear you.”

But- no.  Shiro could hear.  Was he not supposed to?

Holding up a hand, which shook violently in the air, Shiro shook his head. “No.  I can’t- stay away.”

The voices fell silent.

“Go away,” he continued, desperately, voice rough.  Shiro was used to sounding like that.  He did a lot of screaming, in the arena and for the druids.  “Go away, leave me alone.”

There was a soft, pained noise.  Maybe the voices were fighters after all.  “Shiro, it’s okay.  You’re safe.”

Wha-

Shiro?

No one called him Shiro, here.

“We have to get inside,” the other voice insisted.  He sounded familiar, scared, and Shiro ached for him.  Maybe they were trapped too.  Maybe the druids had gotten them.  He wouldn’t wish this on anyone, even another gladiator.  

“Coran said-”

“I don’t care what Coran said!  Look at him!”

The first voice sighed.  “We’ll just call him and have him bring some of those suits, okay?  You know he wouldn’t want you in there if he was in his right mind.”

There was sullen silence from the other.

Shiro took the opportunity to start to push away, kicking off the floor and backpedaling as best he could.  Losing his balance again, he crashed down on one shoulder, his cheek pressed to the tile.  It was cold.  It felt so nice.  Shiro was still burning alive, still melting from the inside, still shaking and pained.

Closing his eyes, Shiro buried his face against the cold as he gagged again, this time more violently.

“You call him.  I’m going in.  We have the armor, it’s air proof.  Decontamination will take care of the rest.”

“Keith, I want to help him too!  But Coran knows what he’s talking about.”

“Shiro didn’t look like this back then.”

Wait, was someone coming for him?  Shiro shot back up, then groaned as his head throbbed and his stomach twisted anew.  The next gag was more like a full body spasm, jerking him from the stomach out.  Bile climbed his throat, and Shiro swallowed hard, one last attempt to stop it.

“He’s on his way, okay?  He’ll be better at getting Shiro back in bed anyway.”

“Shiro won’t recognize him!  Look at him, he’s scared.”

“And you think you’ll be better?”

“He might know me, he’s known me longest.”

Why were they arguing?  They needed to stop.  The increasingly heated conversation was making it so much harder to concentrate.  Each time their voices rose, Shiro flinched back, shaking.  If they were mad with each other, how mad would they be with him?  They kept saying his name, his nickname (how did they know that?  Had someone told them?  Everyone who called him that was dead, now, or better off far away).  They sounded frustrated.  Was it with him?

Shiro needed to-

As he tried to sit up again, Shiro’s stomach twisted once more.  This time, trying to push it back was like trying to shove the tide away.

Bile surged up, burning just like the heat inside.  Shiro coughed, unable to help it, and the vomit escaped into his lap and down his shirt.  The smell was heavy and thick, making Shiro’s stomach churn and clench again.

“Oh, Quiznak.”

“Shiro!  Screw this, I’m going.”

“I- yeah, no more waiting.  I’ll go with you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Shiro’s built like a brick outhouse, dude.  Like when we all dragged him away from that Garrison tent.  I’ll help you pick him up.”

“…Fine.”

The voices cut out.

They were coming for him.

Shiro grabbed at the edge of the table and heaved himself up.  Desperation fueled him enough to get him to his feet.  He wavered, for a moment threatening to fall, but he managed to keep his balance enough to stay upright.

They couldn’t just have him.  No matter what, Shiro wouldn’t go passively.  They would have to fight him for every single inch, even like this.

There was silence for a long time, and Shiro’s legs started to shake.  The scent of bile clung to him, making it even harder to focus and making him feel ill all over again.  But Shiro didn’t have time for any of that.  He had to-

He had to-

The door opened, and two figures in armor stepped through.  Their faces were covered with opaque, dark glass, keeping their features anonymous.

Opponents. 

“Stay back,” Shiro growled, low and quiet.  If he tried to shout, his voice would shake.  He had to scare them off, not let them know he was an easy target.  

The one on the left in the blue armor raised their hands placating.  A trap.  He’d seen this before. Shiro wouldn’t fall for it again.

“We’re just trying to help,” Blue Armor said.

Red Armor glanced at them, then stepped forward, one hand extended.  “You’re sick.  You need to get back to bed.”

Trap.  They couldn’t think of a better lie than ‘we’re going to help’?  

Watching warily, Shiro automatically tried to step away.  But he bumped into the table, and Shiro just didn’t have the energy and the strength to walk around it.  Instead he brought his arms up in a fighting stance and tried to hide the shivers that ran through him.

Red continued forward, pace slow and cautious.  They probably knew what Shiro was capable of.  “C’mon, we have to get that shirt off you-”

Shiro struck.

His arm flickered like a dying light bulb, and even then, Shiro felt like all his energy had been sucked away.  His strike was fast but clumsy, closer to lashing out than an actual blow.

Red dodged , backpedaling quickly.  “Shiro!”  They- he called, voice cracking.  “Shiro, please.  It’s me.  It’s Keith.  You’re sick.  I help you through that.  Remember?”

Wait-

Keith?

Dropping his arms, Shiro stared at Red.  “No.  Keith’s home,” he managed, voice small.  “Keith’s safe.”

“I am,” Red agreed.  He sounded like Keith, now that Shiro was listening for it.  “You are too.  You’re feverish.  Please, Shiro.  Please.”

Safe.

A lie, but Shiro was so tired.  He’d said he would fight, and he had.  There was a limit, and Shiro was at his.

With that, he crashed to his knees.

Blue shot forward, grabbing onto Shiro’s shoulders and pulling him upright.  “Hey, you-”

He cut off as Shiro swung back and punched him in the shoulder.  Even in his tired, painted state, it still sent Blue skidding over the ground.

“Ow,” Blue groaned, slowly pushing himself back up.  “Well, glad for the armor, now.”

Red- Keith stepped over.  “Don’t grab him like that.  You okay?”

Sitting up, Blue nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll live.  I’ve taken harder hits from Shiro in training.  That wasn’t full strength or anything.  Sorry, Shiro, didn’t mean to startle you.”

… What the hell was going on?  Shiro had scored a hit on one of his captors, but they weren’t punishing him.

Maybe he really was safe.

“Keith?”

Kneeling in front of him, Keith held out his hand.  He waited until Shiro had registered it before squeezing his shoulder, the pressure and weight familiar.  “Hey, there.  Don’t mind Lance, he’d your friend too.  I’m sorry for the armor, but you’re contagious.”

“Oh.”  Shiro blinked at him, barely understanding the words.  “You never get sick.”

“We’re not going to chance it with this one,” Keith replied.  “Can I help you out of that shirt?”

Looking down at the strain dripping down the dark fabric, Shiro closed his eyes and slumped against the legs of the table.  “You’ll see.  I don’t want you to.”

“Shiro, you can’t stay in a shirt you threw up in.  I don’t care, and I won’t pay attention, okay?”

It wasn’t worth fighting.  Keith would do what he wanted, as usual.  Shiro nodded, eyes still closed.  “Okay.”

With that, Keith started to tug on the shirt, pulling it up and off Shiro’s limp form.  The cool air felt nice on his flushed skin, and Shiro realized for the first time exactly how sweaty he was.

Eugh.

Soon, the sweat cooled, leaving Shiro shivering and exposed.  Keith could see him.  He and Blue could see what Shiro had become.

Dabbing over his chin and neck, Keith cleaned Shiro up as best as he could.  “You should drink water,” he said, sounding like he was parroting something.  “But let’s get you back on the bed, first.  Lance?”

“Just checking his vitals,” Lance replied, looking over from the console.  “For the record?  Yikes.  No wonder he’s so out of it.  If we were on Earth, we’d be calling an ambulance for sure by now.”  There were footsteps that stopped on Shiro’s other side.  “Gunna punch me this time, big guy?”

Shiro considered it.  “Didn’t stop you before.”

Lance made a grumpy noise.  “That’s what’s stopping you?  Jeez, Shiro, way to make a guy feel loved.”

“He’s feverish, Lance.”

“I know, I know.  I’m joking around.  Ready, Shiro?”

For what?  Oh, yes, for going back to bed.  Yeah, he was ready to lie back down.  Shiro nodded vaguely, still slumped back.

“Alright, here we go.”  Hands grabbed onto Shiro on both sides.  At first he started, trying to jerk away, but then he settled back down.  It was Keith and Lance.  He knew them.  

Besides, he just didn’t have the strength.

Between the two of them, they managed to get Shiro back up on the bed.  He was propped up on pillows.  Actual soft, comfortable pillows.  Multiple, even.  Shiro sighed as he leaned back into them, luxuriating in the simple pleasure.

“Don’t sleep yet,” Keith said.  “Coran’s on his way.  You should drink water, remember?”

Shiro cracked his eyes open.  “No.  Sick.”

Through the dark glass, Shiro could just barely make out Keith frowning.  “Yeah, that’s why.”

“He means he’ll throw it up,” Lance pointed out.  He patted Shiro on the knee.  “We should probably get him an IV, at this rate.  If he can’t keep down water, no way he’s keeping down Hunk’s soup, no matter how delicious.”

Keith sighed.  He reached out, brushing Shiro’s bangs off his forehead.  The gloves were odd, a fabric Shiro didn’t recognize, but they were cooler than his skin and therefore something to be welcomed.  “Whatever the Altean version of an IV is.”

“Yeah, that.”  Lance scooted in closer.  Like Keith, Shiro could just barely see his face, but he looked worried.  “Shiro, is there anything we can do to help?  When you wake up disoriented like that.  So you know you’re in the castle, not- somewhere else.”

Blinking at him, Shiro’s brow furrowed.  “Castle?”  This wasn’t a castle.  There was no stone anywhere.  Only metal and tile.

Lance snorted.  “Well, more fool me for asking.”

“I’ll stay for a while,” Keith said.  “He recognized me when I told him my name.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

Keith shrugged.  “I don’t really care.  Coran can get me one of those suits he wears, and that way someone can help bring him water or get him back in bed.”

Brows up, Lance sighed.  “Alright.  Just don’t get sick.  Seriously, Keith, we all want to help Shiro, but we can’t have more people down with this.  This is… this is really serious.  People die from being this sick.”

Stiffening, Keith grabbed Shiro’s blankets and started to tuck him in.  “He’s not going to die.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up,” Keith shot back, voice growing venomous.  “Just shut up.  Shiro’s not going to die.  End of story.”

Groaning, Shiro reached out and put his hand on Keith’s arm.  “Stop. No fighting.  Feels worse.”

Keith’s shoulders slumped.  “Oh.  Okay, no more.  Sorry, Shiro.”

“Mmm.”  Shiro nodded vaguely, head slumping to the side.  “Should you- class?”  That’s where Keith was supposed to be.

But Keith shook his head.  “We’re on break.  Don’t worry about it, okay?  All you have to worry about is getting better.”

“Boring.”

“Suck it up,” Keith told him.  The glass of his helmet hid too many details, making it hard to tell if he had that little upturn to his lips that meant he was teasing.

Sighing, Lance looked between them both.  “If you don’t want to drink anything, you should sleep, Shiro.  You need rest.”

“But-”  Shiro sighed and slumped.  “Don’t want to.”  Sleeping was bad.  Shiro’s head was swimming, but he knew that for sure.  Sleeping meant hurting again.

Smoothing his hand up and down Shiro’s nearest blanket-covered leg, Lance hummed consideringly.  “You know, I’ve always found it’s easier to have good dreams when someone tells you a good bedtime story.”

Huh.  Shiro picked his head up and blinked slowly.  The touches were nice, now.  Not so direct, and they helped rub away some of the awful ache that had taken residence deep inside him.  “Okay.”  That was worth a try.

Smiling, Lance glanced at Keith.  “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got the best bedtime storyteller in the whole world - no, whole universe - at your bedside.  So, yeah, let’s improv a bit.  Once upon a time there was this really cool Prince.  He lived in a huge kingdom, where they raised- uh.  Keith, give me an animal.”

“Hippos.”

Lance’s hand froze.  “That’s your first pick?  The animal off the top of your head?”

Frowning, Keith raised his chin.  “Hippos are cool.  And tough.  And big.”

“Well, alright then, sure.  Hippos.  Whatever.  They raised hippos, I guess.  So this prince…”

Lance droned on, weaving a silly tale of knighthood and bravery.

At some point, Coran finally entered and interrupted the story to take Shiro’s vitals and to shoo them back out.

By then, Shiro was fast asleep.

***

A hand on Shiro’s forehead stirred him awake next.  There was no warmth, no gentle slide of skin on skin.  

Cracking his eyes open, Shiro peered up to see Coran over him, wearing the hazmat suit again.   He wasn’t looking down, focus on a screen off to the side as he idly brushed his hand through Shiro’s hair.

“Coran?” Shiro called, or at least tried to.  His voice cracked around the side, coming out an incomprehensible garble of broken, sharp syllables that caught in his throat like glass.

Coran’s head snapped down.  “Oh, Shiro.  Try not to talk, my boy, that can’t be comfortable right now.  Are you aware of where you are?”

The Castle of Lions, specifically part of the med bay.  The quarantine room.  Shiro nodded shortly, letting out all the air in his lungs in one powerful, frustrated gust.

“That’s good to hear.  Your fever has gone down some.  Good thing.  We were starting to get worried.  No need to cook anything in there.”  He poked Shiro once in the center of his forehead, brows up as if Shiro had done it all on purpose.

Closing his eyes, Shiro gave a tiny, jerky shrug.  He was aware, sure, but he felt awful.  Even that small movement made his body protest.  Each heartbeat seemed to echo inside of him, throbbing through his limbs and pounding in his head.  The lights were on again and searingly bright, even through Shiro’s eyelids.  

Coran sighed, and Shiro heard him pull over a chair.  “We discussed having Allura heal you, you know,” he said, just shy of casual.  “It would take skin to skin contact, though, and we’re not sure it wouldn’t cause the same problem as the pods.”

Eyes wide, Shiro shook his head ‘no’.  Allura shouldn’t do that.  No one needed to feel like this.  Shiro had never been this sick in his life, and he wouldn’t have wished it on anyone.  Much less Allura, who they needed so badly, and who was already holding up so much.

“We decided to wait,” Coran replied.  “Only last case scenario, if all else fails.  No need to worry about it now.”

That wasn’t as good as a simple ‘no’.  But there was no way to communicate that with words, so Shiro just closed his eyes and accepted the decision.  It wasn’t like he could stop Allura in his current condition.  He couldn’t stop-

Wait.

Hadn’t he tried to stop someone earlier?  Red and-

Oh.  Oh.

Shiro raised his hand to nudge Coran’s arm.  It shook like an old man’s from the effort, fingers drooping in the air, too weak to hold themselves up.

Comforting.

“Lance?” Shiro asked, croaking it out through clenched teeth.  “N’Keith?”

Coran tilted his head, then his eyes widened.  “Oh!  Oh, yes, they’re perfectly fine.  You didn’t do worse than unbalance Lance, really.  No need to worry, he didn’t even need something for a bruise.  Shiro, please.  Relax.  Rest.”

It didn’t exactly work like that, though.

“Do you think you could get something in you?” Coran asked, just a touch hopefully.  “This is the most coherent you’ve been for a while, and you don’t seem quite so sensitive, stomach-wise.”

Shiro closed his eyes, taking stock of himself.  His stomach wasn’t quite so bad as it had been, though he still felt delicate.  But he thought he could at least keep down water, and maybe broth.  So he gave a nod, then motioned vaguely to himself with just his hands.

Eating, sure.  Sitting up under his own power and picking up something as heavy as a bowl?  Not in the cards.

How pathetic was that?

“Excellent!”  Coran smiled at him as if Shiro had just figured out how to topple the Galra empire.  Then he slid his gloved hands under Shiro, helping shove him farther up the bed.  The stack of pillows below helped keep him upright, at least enough to be lounging instead of laying.  The slightly shift made Shiro cough.  A groan ripped out of him from the pain, even when Shiro tried to swallow it down.

But it subsided quickly enough, so Shiro tried to raise up his arms.  He got about three inches off the bed before he had to give up with a frustrated growl that only made his throat feel worse.

“None of that,” Coran said.  “Here.  Hunk brought some more, this time with a cover.  It should still be warm.”  He held up a mug to Shiro’s lips.  

The steam felt surprisingly nice against his skin and cracked, dry lips.  Shiro took a deep breath, relieved when his stomach didn’t turn at the salty scent.  Hopefully he’d keep it down.

Shiro sipped as best he could when someone else was controlling the cup.  It was harder to do than he would have thought, either not quite getting enough or having it splash into his mouth.  But Coran stayed steady and calm, reacting to Shiro’s quiet vocalizations, until he was able to get down at least half of the mug.

By then, Shiro could feel the weight the broth in his stomach.  He pulled away and shook his head, licking his lips for the rest.

“Enough for now?  Alright, we’ll try again later.”  Coran set aside the cup.  “Would you like me to lay you back down?”

After a moment of consideration, Shiro shook his head.  No, actually.  Moving had sucked, and this was fine.  He could sleep reclined without an issue, and the position seemed to help with his lungs somehow.

Coran nodded and patted him on the head again.  “I’ll be back soon.  Try to go back to sleep.”

Curling his fingers up into a loose thumbs-up, Shiro managed a weak smile.

“Atta boy.”

With that, Coran stepped away and turned the lights down low again, then left through the door.

Leaving Shiro alone.

He tried to listen to Coran’s instructions.  Really, he did.  Sleep hadn’t been a choice recently.  With one exception, it had gone remarkably well - maybe the short bursts of rest weren’t long enough for proper nightmares, or maybe he was too sick.  Shiro had never paid enough attention to the dramatic pamphlets on PTSD or anxiety that used to litter the Garrison medical facilities.

But this time, there was no tug.  Shiro just laid there, eyes closed, room dark, and listened.  There was the beeping of the equipment, the distant hum of the engines, his own breathing, and the gargling of his stomach.

It was very quiet.

It was very boring.

Sheep.  Counting sheep was supposed to help, right?  Rhythmic, distracting, requiring as little effort as possible.  

One. Two. Three-

Okay, no.  No way.  Shiro was not going to lay here in the dark and count sheep.  He’d never even seen a real sheep in person, at least so far as he could remember.  Maybe from the highway or something.

Had someone ever brought him that card set?

Shiro looked over at the counter closest his bed.  There was one of those floating trays, with the broth mug sitting in the middle.  Next to it was a pad, and nothing else.

Hm.

Pulling it over, Shiro turned it on and squinted at the harsh light.  His first instinct was to pull up information from the latest missions, but the shortcut for it on the main screen was gone.  Shiro flipped through, but he couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.

Purposefully removed, then.  Shiro could probably dive into the program files on the pad, but frankly it wasn’t worth the effort.  Even the tiny labels and symbols that marked different programs looked like they were swimming.

Alright, then, what was on here?

One option was the Altean language software, which Shiro passed on.  He wouldn’t remember anything he learned in this state, and Altean was frustrating on the best of days.  Next to it looked to be some kind of game, so Shiro picked that.

It turned out to be a puzzle.  Pidge and Hunk must have programmed it at some point themselves, because it used the standard puzzle shapes that Shiro was used to seeing from box sets.  Each one made a picture of something around the castle - one of the lions, the control room, the training room, that huge portrait of Grogery the Infirm in one of the halls.  There was even an option for how many pieces he wanted to handle.

Sufficiently distracted, Shiro set it to a medium level and started to work.

But there were two problems.

The first was that Shiro was having trouble even looking at the final pictures, much less squinting enough to tell what a piece was supposed to go to.  He found himself jabbing his finger at one piece, trying to make it fit in, only to realize it was the completely wrong color to belong in that spot..

The second was that the room was still so quiet.

Did this thing have music or something?

Shiro flipped through, but he didn’t see any options for video or for music.  The Altean language program would at least have a speaking voice, but… no.  Not worth it.

“C’mon,” he muttered, ignoring how awful his voice sounded.

At least it was a voice breaking up how empty the room was.

Shiro gave up on the puzzles and moved on to a chess game with a computer opponent.  As he played, he started to hum to himself.  It ripped at his throat and once in awhile he had to pause to cough.  But was better than the kind of nothingness that made his ears ache from straining.

It was better than the constant reminder that he was isolated.  Apart.  Alone.

Shiro missed his team.  Coran had just left less than half a varga ago, and he’d seen all of them that day.  But Shiro was used to always having something to do, someone who needed him to do something, some noise to fill the space and keep him from dwelling.

When he was alone, Shiro had no choice but to listen to how quiet the room was.  Nothing to do but to think, and thinking meant worrying.  

Shaking his head, Shiro focused on the game.  Or, tried, but it didn’t last long.  Within five minutes, Shiro had been thoroughly defeated.  Either Pidge had sent the difficulty high on purpose, or she’d played it so many times the bot was too good for a casual player.

That was it for the games.

“Shoulda just-”  Shiro winced, coughing again.  “Just brought a card deck.”  He’d remind them next time.

Dropping the pad into his lap, Shiro sighed and stared up at the ceiling.  His metal fingers tapped against the screen, a constant noise, one under his control.  One that proved he could affect his environment.  One that filled his ears with something other than the droning beeps and the sound of his own blood pumping through.

Shiro closed his eyes and grimaced.

Then he started to count cows.

Then he started to count that each cow gave enough milk for 5 milkshakes.

Each of those milkshakes needed two cherries.

Each of the cups had six stripes.

Each of the stripes and three layers (darker blue top edge, paler blue middle, darker blue bottom edge).

Just counting sheep hadn’t been enough, but counting increasing fractal concepts did.

Shiro drifted off, shivering from both the fever chills and the thought of brain freeze.

***

The next time, Shiro woke on his own again.

Rubbing over his sticking eyes, he scowled up at the ceiling.  He was already really, really sick of looking up at these particular lights. At this point he had no idea how long he’d been in this stupid room.  Hours?  Days?  Probably not weeks.

…Shiro hoped it hadn’t been weeks.  No one was acting that freaked out, yet.

Slowly, he scrubbed over his face and sat up.  Judging by the heat pouring off him, he was still feverish, but he felt more in control again.  His stomach wasn’t actively trying to climb out of him anymore, and the aches and shivers were back down to tolerable levels.

Which was good.  Hopefully, Shiro was through the worst of it.  Except being aware of himself meant being aware that he was trapped in this little room with nothing to do.

For a moment, Shiro considered getting up and moving.  He was going to be weakened by however-long he’d laid around, so it was really just wise to get started on that and mitigate the damage.  But when he pushed himself up and swung his legs over to the side, he could already feel fatigue dragging his limbs down.

Maybe not, then.

What else was he supposed to do?

Glancing over at the nearest counter, Shiro scowled at his pad.  Last time that had been more frustration than help.  Stupid thing.  He appreciated the thought, but- eugh.  No.  He’d rather count cows again, and he really didn’t want to do that.

But Shiro’s eyes drifted over to the left, where the console sat.

Hm.  He could ask if there were more programs, or at least where Pidge had buried the shortcut so he could get some work done.

But Shiro didn’t know what time it was.  Maybe it was the middle of the night.  Maybe they were training, or eating.  Any of the more important things they could be doing, rather than sitting around and listening to Shiro whine about the lack of entertainment options in quarantine.

Shiro should be able to sit around on his own without needing to be coddled.

Except he was really, really bored.  Despite his own advice, Shiro was feeling neither patient nor focused.

Groaning, Shiro grabbed one of the pillows and held it to his chest.  This was ridiculous.  He should just go back to sleep.  

But he’d already slept so much.  If he was feeling better, shouldn’t he be able to stay up more?

Dammit.

The console sat there, the standby mode light a mocking reminder that all he had to do was tap it to contact anyone in the castle.

To bother them over something so inane.

Shiro scowled down at the pillow.

He could at least just see what time it was, right?  Then he’d know for certain if it was too late and he should just give it up.

That decided, Shiro reached out and tapped the console.  The screen projected out, nearly painfully bright in the otherwise darkened room.

7:45 PM, Castle Time.

So, after dinner and after training.  When everyone would be taking personal time.

The perfect time to ask, if Shiro chose to.

“This is silly,” he muttered, flopping back on the pillows.  “What are you even going to ask for?”

Shiro didn’t even know that Pidge or Hunk or whoever could help him.  

Well, they could at least send along a deck of cards.

…What was the consequences of asking?  That he got snapped at for bothering them.  That he got told not to be ridiculous and go back to sleep.  That he interrupted them while they were doing something important.

Anything more important than him being sick and feeling lonely.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t survived that before.

Shiro stared at the console.  The screen continued to show the clock in large, cheerful numbers.

“Screw it.”

Shiro tapped on the call button and selected the console in Pidge and Hunk’s workroom.  He let it buzz, rather than directly intercoming.

A few seconds later, it stopped.  “Hey.  Needed something delivered, Coran?” Pidge asked, sounding distracted.  There were the tiny clinks of metal on metal, probably her tools as she worked on some project or another.

Clearing his throat, Shiro gave a bland smile, despite the fact that this was audio only.  “Actually, it’s Shiro.”

Immediately, the noises stopped.  “Shiro!  How are you feeling?”

Before he could answer, another voice chimed in.  “How was the broth?  It was light enough to stay down?”

“Hello, Hunk.  It was perfect, thank you.”  Actually, Shiro should probably eat again soon.  That broth was the only thing he’d kept down since he’d gotten sick.  “I’m doing better.  Hopefully this is close to over.”

Pidge hummed thoughtfully.  “Maybe.  Coran thought it’d be longer, but maybe humans are tougher than he thought.”  The pride was clear in her voice.  “Anyway, what’s up?  Needed something?”

Shiro opened his mouth, then paused.  The reality of what a ridiculous requests this was weighed down on him, stealing his breath.

Was he really going to interrupt them for this?

“Shiro?” Hunk asked, voice softening.  “You sure you’re okay?  You know where you are?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine.  Sorry, I was just distracted for a moment.  I was wondering if- this really isn’t a pressing issue, so don’t feel obligated if you’re busy.  But is there any way to remotely add more programs to the pad?”

This time, there was a pause.  “Bored?” Pidge asked, a smile in her voice.  “Good, it does sound like you’re doing better, then.  Sure, there’s a couple more things I could add.  Or we could give you something physical to do.”

“We printed off a set of cards that are on… it’s basically plastic,” Hunk added.  “Guess we forgot to leave them with you.  Sorry about that.  This way, we can was them off after instead of throwing them out or whatever.  Coran’s so serious about the germs you have.  Nothing in there with you is coming out without one heck of a cleaning.”

Shiro nodded, despite the fact that they couldn’t see it.  “Agreed.  I don’t want anyone else catching this.  We’re lucky I’m the only one that caught it.  The cards would be great, thank you.”

“Actually, I have another idea,” Pidge offered.  “Depending on how much concentration you have.  Feel up to some multiplayer?”

Considering, Shiro looked at the pad.  His head hurt, but not like before, and nothing else was so distracting to make a game impossible.

“Yeah, I could give it a shot.”

“Perfect!”  Even without seeing Pidge’s face, Shiro could picture her grin.  “I’ll set it up.  Give me 20.”

Yeah, Shiro could survive that long.  “Now I’m curious.”

Hunk chuckled.  “It should be fun.  I’ll go get-”  He cut himself off, then laughed again.  “You’ll see.”

Brows up, Shiro considered the console.  “Alright.”

Picking up the pad, Shiro turned it on and started to flip through the games again.  He finished the puzzle that had stumped him before, just for something to do.

Just before the twenty minutes were up, the door to the observation window opened.  Hunk came through first, then held it open for Pidge, Lance, and Keith, who were all carrying pillows and blankets.

Shiro waved to them, more than a little sheepish.   Then he grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself, hiding his chest and how messy his hair was.  “You know, it would have been nice if you’d said you were coming.”

“Sorry,” Pidge replied, only slightly apologetic.  “Would have ruined the surprise, though.  And hey, now you look comfy.”

“I look sick, is how I look.”

Lance snorted, brows up.  “You look way better than you did before, Shiro.  We’ll take red cheeks and messy hair, I think.”

Next to him, Keith gave a solemn nod.  His eyes roamed over all of Shiro, like he was looking for a sign that something was wrong.

Wrapping the blanket tighter around himself self-consciously, Shiro cleared his throat.  “So what’s your plan?”

Hunk held up a pad so Shiro could see it.  “We’ve got it set up so all of us can play a game together.  We figured it’d be more fun for you if we were at least close enough to talk to, rather than just radioing in.  Sound like fun?”

Actually, yeah.  That sounded good.  “Co-op or versus?” Shiro asked.

“You have a preference?” Pidge tilted her head curiously.

On another day, Shiro would be all about versus.  But right now he wasn’t going to be able to give it 100 percent.  “Co-op would be nice.  You can cover for my slack.”

“Makes up for the field,” Lance said, lips quirked up fondly.  “Sounds good to me.”

Eyes wide, Shiro relaxed his grip on the blanket.  “That’s not true, Lance.”

Lance held both his hands up.  “Hey, hey, it was a joke.  No worrying about it now, alright?  All you have to worry about is- whatever the game is about.  I don’t know.”

“Exploring a landscape and finding goals,” Hunk replied.  “It’s really open world, actually.  We modified it a little, but it’s a really cool game.  And co-op is perfect for it.  More people makes it easier to solve puzzles.”

The four of them settled in comfortably, as Pidge set up Shiro’s tablet so he could play along.  

It took a few minutes for everyone to get used to the mechanics, but soon they settled in.  And they were right that being able to see each other’s faces helped.  Shiro stayed firmly wrapped in his blanket, but he liked being able to shoot Pidge a look when her arrow shot hit his character instead of the target she was aiming for, or smirking when he nabbed out a chest from under Keith’s nose.

Shiro was right that he probably wasn’t playing his best, but it didn’t matter.  It was a goofy game about getting into weird situations and getting yourself back out with teamwork.

Honestly, it had been a long time since Shiro had so much fun with a game.

“Reminds me of Dungeons and Dragons,” he commented later, when he started to slump forward and blink slowly.  He didn’t say anything about that, because he didn’t want to stop yet.  When they left, it was back to boredom.  “It has that open world ‘you can do whatever so long as you back it up with skills’ feelings.”

Lance’s brows rose.  “You play Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Once or twice,” Shiro replied.  “Usually because I was spending a lot of time with someone who liked it.  It’s fun, though.  Why the tone?”

“I dunno, it’s like, major geeky.  And you’re cool.  I didn’t think you would have.”

Keith burst into laughter.  “I can’t believe you still think Shiro is cool.  Still.  C’mon.”

“He is!”  Lance’s bottom lip jutted out.  “Like, the Kerberos mission, and his flight scores, and decorated within a year of graduation.”

“He also thinks peanut butter is a food group.”

Shiro scowled.  “It’s protein, it counts.  And I can be all those things and still find Dungeons and Dragons fun.  It’s a game of rules about figuring out how to break the rules.  I like that.”

“Makes sense,” Pidge replied.  “Do I know any of those nerds you were spending a lot of time with?”

Shiro ducked his head, avoiding looking at the glass.  “You might.”

“Matt played Rogue?”

“Your Dad banned him from it after ‘last time’, don’t know the specifics, so he was a paladin.  Ironically.”

Pidge paused, then burst into cackles.  “Oh, he probably means- I’ll tell you sometime.  When you’re more awake.”

Pulling the blanket in tighter around him, Shiro forced himself to sit up straighter.  “I’m awake.”

“By the skin of your teeth,” Hunk said, smiling softly.  “Shiro, you should sleep.  You need it.  We can do this another time.  You just need to call.”

Shiro frowned, curling back in on himself.  “But I don’t like calling.  You might be busy.”

“I think we can make time for you,” Lance said.  “Hey, call during training, Allura will probably let us hang out with you instead.”

“Training is more important,” Shiro shot back, managing a stern look through his bangs.  

Tilting his head, Keith considered him.  “We’ll make time for you.  You know that, right?  Of course we will.”

“You shouldn’t have to.  I’ll live.”

Keith’s eyes hardened.  “We want to.  Seriously, Shiro.  Just call.  We’ll tell you we can’t if something’s happening, but it’s worth asking.  Promise me.”

Tired and slightly feverish eyes darted up to meet Keith’s gaze.  “But-”  Then Shiro sighed.  “Okay.  I’ll call.  But it’s okay if you’re busy.  You have to work.”  The words started to slur as Shiro’s blinks got slower.

Hunk glanced over at Keith, who shook his head back.  “Maybe, but we can do both.  Let us worry about that, you just go to bed.”

“Mmm,” Shiro disagreed, but he did flop back onto his side.  The cool pillow felt amazing, so he sighed.  “I can try it.”

“That’s all we ask,” Lance offered.  “You’d do the same for us.”

Shiro nodded softly.  “I would.  I’d stay home for you guys.”

There was silence at that, and Shiro didn’t open his eyes to see the looks on their faces.  Maybe they thought he was lazy for that, but he’d do it anyway.  It sucked to be home alone from school, only to be bored and lonely.

“Sleep well, Shiro,” Pidge called.  The lights flickered on in the room.  Tension in his brow unfurrowed.  He hadn’t even realized the light was making his headache worse until she did that.  “We’re here whenever you need up.  Promise.”

For that moment, at least, Shiro believed them.

With a sigh, he fell back asleep, this time restful and smiling.


End file.
